


All But Anders

by Toastybluetwo



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastybluetwo/pseuds/Toastybluetwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is still with Hawke, even when Hawke doesn’t want him around anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All But Anders

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following challenge from the BSN forums:  
>  _"So...DreamerM had an interesting game glitch in which Varric claims that Anders stayed with Hawke even after Hawke dumped him at the Gallows. It's an interesting premise, how that could play out. Especially if Hawke really doesn't want to have anything to do with the cause, or Anders, at all anymore yet he clings to her/him no matter what happens."_

All But Anders

There were other things I could be doing.

Orlais was at war with Ferelden. King Alistair had, again, offered me a position as an advisor. He had been so insistent that he had hired two Antivan Crows just to track me down – not to kill me, mind, but to deliver a letter containing the offer.

They found me in Hossberg, in the Anderfels. I had just arrived by way of a caravan that travelled through the Tevinter Imperium. I had been in Hossberg for a total of six hours, and was having my dinner in one of their shadier inns when two young men unceremoniously and very suddenly appeared, one placing the letter directly on my roast beef and potatoes so that I could easily see the Theirin family seal.

“He said that you would be in Orlais,” one of the Crows said with a heavy sigh. “He owes us extra for the travel.”

Speaking of the Imperium – the legendary Tevinter Imperium, the monster of the nightmares of men and women, shrouded in mystery, unforgiven for the past – all four Circles in Minrathous had so violently rebelled against their Chantry that the smoking corpses of Blessed Sisters and Templars alike still remained in the streets days later.

I had come there for salvation, for protection, for rest and relaxation. I was still an apostate at the end of the day, no matter what sort of legend that the name of the Champion of Kirkwall could hold. However, I soon saw that even an ancient and massive city such as Minrathous had no secrets. When two mage guards insisted that I come with them, I expected to be taken to one of the four Circle towers. Instead, I found myself, a few hours later, standing before the Archon and the Imperial Senate.

They were curious about the events that had transpired during my final days in Kirkwall. Where had I found the recipe used to create the massive destructive force that crushed the Chantry? What steps had I taken to liberate the Circle?

And, moreover, what happened to my companions? Why was I travelling alone?

They were completely wrong, and I could illustrate this fact with a simple gesture. I reached into my pack and pulled out a small item that I had carried for over a year – a silverite urn, sealed with wax and tightly clasped shut. I placed it before me on the short column by which I stood.

I had not been alone since I left Kirkwall.

It was then, with the Senate and the Archon as my audience, that I told them Anders’ story. I started with his death, how I had executed him with my own hands, how I had paid two Lowtown refugees to bring his corpse to me, how Vengeance attempted to use the corpse to continue its work.

As I recounted how I had dismembered the corpse and given it the best Andrastrian funeral that I could, using scraps of prayers that I remembered from my father’s, I could still smell the rotting, burning flesh. The scent of clotted ichors hung still in my nose.

Only then did Vengeance sleep at last, never to stir again.

When I finished speaking, the Archon seemed intrigued. Perhaps I could give away some of my legend. Perhaps the story could be changed. It wouldn’t be a lie, but there could be the choice to highlight certain aspects of Anders’ story. He had been a victim of the Chantry’s treatment, a defender of the weak, forced to become an abomination out of sheer desperation and pure self-sacrifice, put out of his misery by one who loved him so deeply that he could not watch Anders continue to suffer.

The Senators invited me over to their homes, to drink their wine, to eat their food, to sleep on their fine beds, even to sleep with their prostitutes. To be polite, I took part in all but the last. I slept instead with Anders by my bedside, resting in his small urn, hopefully at peace at last.

I hated the man for his betrayal, for his lies, but damn it all, if I wouldn’t sleep with another while he was watching. I didn’t regret killing him, but I wouldn’t cheat on him in front of his face.

Or, the ashes of his face.

I did not stay in Minrathous long. The Senators started their legend, spinning it carefully, like a web that caught their mage-constituents. In the center of that web, I remained. I was the one that had recounted the tale, that had set the record straight, and now, the people of Tevinter had their hero.

The night before I left Minrathous was the one in which young mages rose up as one, attacking and killing any templar or sacred sister in sight. They painted badly-rendered images of Anders on their bedclothes and hung these banners high from the crumbling columns. Then, as a final tribute to his memory, evacuated the four Circles and burned every Chantry building within a day’s ride to the ground.

It was no longer about me anymore.

I had one last thing to do.

I took him home. I took the caravan to Hossberg and stood on the banks of the Lattenfluss, Anders in my arms for one last time.

He had never mentioned living in Hossberg, but he had been there many times. He had spoken of playing in the Lattenfluss, of fishing and games and diving in the freezing cold water. Had I known what village he came from, I would have gone there, but he had never trusted me enough to tell me that.

Or even his real name.

There was nothing left to say. I had held my vigil long enough. I opened the urn and poured his ashes into the rushing waters.

I had been nicer than I should have been. I had treated him with greater respect than that which he had given me, considering the lies, considering that he had dashed our lives on the rocks without care, considering -

No. Enough. Enough was enough.

I left the empty urn on the banks of the river and went to find an inn. The next day, I would depart for Orlais, just west of the Ferelden border in a small town that King Alistair had taken and destroyed. Life went on.

It was a damned shame that things had to turn out this way.


End file.
